Page 47 of A Match Made in Coven
Lorcan chuckled, the sound sending a pleasant warmth through her. “It’s the only way to go to a benefit downtown without hassling for parking.”
She didn’t even think he was joking. But she was too affected by his proximity to argue, even playfully, that a regular cab would’ve sufficed.
He held the door open for her, helping her in and joining swiftly.
As the car purred to life and pulled away from her house, Sarah Michelle tried to calm her racing pulse. Working a case together was dangerous enough—arriving at this ritzy Halloween gala on the arm of her charming frenemy was courting disaster. She sent up a silent prayer to the powers that be to please let them get through this night without losing focus on the mission and not allow their emotions to take over… or without combusting from the effort of denying their impulses.
No one answered her prayers. Sarah Michelle sat straight in the backseat, every nerve ending alight with awareness of Lorcan’s solid presence beside her. The supple leather seats felt cool against the bare skin of her arms, only making his warmth feel more intense. The air hung heavy with the faint trace of his intoxicating cologne, that alluring blend of citrus and spice that made her head spin.
Lorcan leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of her ear as he whispered, “Relax, Shelly. You’re wound tighter than a cursed clock.”
His teasing words, meant to soothe, only ratcheted her tension higher. Wild, unbidden thoughts raced through her mind—images of herself turning to straddle his lap, capturing his tempting mouth with her own, losing herself in his embrace.
As if sensing the direction of her forbidden fantasies, Lorcan turned to face her, his ocean eyes darkening with unmistakable hunger. Time suspended as they stared at each other, the air between them sizzling with pent-up desire.
Then, as if pulled by an irresistible force, they crashed together, lips meeting in a fierce kiss that obliterated every rational thought. Sarah Michelle followed through on her imagination, straddling him. She reveled in the firmness of his chest, in the strength of his arms as they banded around her. But it paled compared to the exquisite sensation of Lorcan’s mouth moving over hers, his tongue teasing the seam of her lips, seeking entrance…
They kissed languidly, with abandon, losing track of time and anything else that wasn’t each other—so much for staying focused.
The limo jolted to an abrupt stop, breaking the spell and sending them springing apart, chests heaving. Sharing a rueful glance, they took a moment to compose themselves, smoothing mussed hair and straightening clothes. Then Lorcan flashed her a charmingly smug grin that said checkmate—game over, sweetheart. Sarah Michelle had never been happier about losing.
He exited the car, circling to her side and holding out a hand to help her out.
Together they ascended the grand stone steps of the Town Hall. At the top, the impressive carved doors hung open to reveal the transformed interior.
The utilitarian space was barely recognizable, completely overhauled by a plethora of spooky decorations. Black and orange balloons bobbed near the high ceiling, strings dangling like eerie tendrils. Some held paper bats afloat that flapped in an unseen breeze. Faux cobwebs stretched across corners and bulletin boards, lending a haunted air to mundane notices and flyers.
Velvet-draped tables were scattered around the perimeter, lit by flickering LED candles set in elegant obsidian candelabras. Intricately carved pumpkins glowed on every surface, their dancing lights casting playful shadows on the walls.
In the center of the great hall, a dance floor had been cleared, presided over by a DJ booth encircled with more cobwebs and faux tombstones. Pulsing music reverberated through the space.
The thumping bass line matched the rhythm of Sarah Michelle’s quickening heartbeat as Lorcan’s hand settled on the small of her back to guide her inside.
As they stepped farther into the room, countless stares pressed down on them. She adjusted her mask, hoping it provided a sliver of anonymity, but suspecting it did little to disguise their identity to the magical community.
They were a sight even for unaware human eyes, but for the witching community, they’d be the gossip of the century. Witches and wizards alike turned to gape at the unlikely pair—a Black and a Callidora, together at a public event. Whispers rippled through the crowd, heads turned, jaws dropped.
Lorcan leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear. “We’re causing quite the scandal.”
If only he knew what she wanted to do to him right now, he’d reconsider his definition of a scandal.
At her lack of response, Lorcan looked at her sideways and he must’ve recognized the heat in her gaze because he grinned roguishly. “Unless youwantto make a real scandal. Because I’m game.”
Sarah Michelle fought the urge to lean into his touch, instead shooting him a pointed look that she should’ve reserved for herself. “Tone down the charm, Black. We’re here to do a job, remember?”
He grinned, unrepentant, and snagged two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter. “Part of that job is blending in as partygoers,” he pointed out, pressing a glass into her hand. “Relax, Shelly. Live a little.”
She scowled but accepted the drink and took a sip, the bubbles cool and fizzy against her tongue. The sensation was a momentary distraction from the tension coiling in her stomach.
They wove their way through the throng of guests in classy costumes. The scene looked more like a Venetian masquerade than a small-town party in Massachusetts. Still, the extravagant costumes were a good excuse for Sarah Michelle to scan the room, searching for their target.
She spotted Councilman MacGregor dressed like an English lord from the eighteenth century in a white wig and powdered face. He wore a black velvet frock coat, lace cravat, and shiny black buckled shoes. He was holding court near the far wall, surrounded by an eager crowd of sycophants hanging on his every word, a half-empty champagne flute in hand.
She elbowed Lorcan, ignoring his surprised grunt. “There he is,” she hissed. “We need that glass once he’s finished his drink.”
Lorcan nodded, his expression turning serious as he balled his hands into fists. Facing the man who most likely had killed his best friend mustn’t be easy.
She dropped a hand on his arm. “Lorcan, if he’s guilty, MacGregor will pay for what he’s done. But stop looking at him with murder in your eyes, or someone will notice.”
